


The Way of the Winchesters

by eldersink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome, F/M, I swear it's not as bad as it seems, Kidnapping, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldersink/pseuds/eldersink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alright so here's the deal with this thing:<br/>My friend realized that I wasn't have a good week about a month ago so she started writing this and it made me very happy. Why? Because it's about me and her and the Winchesters. I'm pretty badass, and she's pretty badass so of course it's a really great story. But I don't really want to tell you anything about it because it'll ruin the surprises. So if you're interested in the least, read it. Because if nothing else there are some sex scenes.</p><p> </p><p>And we're working on the ending. We can't really agree on what's going to happen, but we'll get there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Witness

**The Witness**

**Part I**

Sam and Dean stared at the body on the ground before them with something akin to disgust marring their faces. The young woman—or what was left of her—was piled near the Mississippi River’s edge in a charred heap, leaving behind a murky puddle of the canal she’d just been extricated from.

“She drowned…in fire?” Dean questioned aloud, his brow furrowed. Sam didn’t dignify his query with a response, but bent closer to examine the remains. It took only moments of scavenging for him to discover an intricately wrought silver locket, which he silently pocketed after sharing a pointed look with his brother.

“You FBI boys done here?” a thick voice drawled. “I’d like to release the body to her parents.” Sam straightened and faced the portly town sheriff who had stumbled into the crime scene with blustering confusion and bravado.

“I think we’ve got what we need, sir,” Dean returned with a smile. “You mentioned earlier that there was a witness…?”

“Back of the squad car.” The chief jerked his thumb in the direction of the parking lot adjacent to the boat rental shop atop the hill.

“It’s got to be a ghost,” Sam muttered as they started up the slope. “But this is the fourth girl this week—why now?”

“Guess he got bored of doing ghosty things and decided to play a little ‘teenage girl roulette’,” Dean offered hopefully. A glaring look from his younger brother silenced him, and the pair trekked towards the lot in silence.

Their witness was not, as the sheriff had assured them, in the squad car. Further investigation revealed that she was also not conversing with reporters, huddled under a shock blanket in the care of EMTs, or going through any of the other stereotypical machinations that frightened witnesses usually comforted themselves with. At the end of their fruitless search, Dean swore under his breath and turned to tap a well-dressed woman on the shoulder.

“Ma’am, have they already released the witness, we need to question—“

“I’m here,” the lady snapped, ending what had seemed an animated phone call and fixing the brothers with an irritated glare. “Question away, but do it quickly, my shift starts in ten minutes.” As if to reinforce her deadline, she shot a cursory glance at her watch.

“Okay,” Dean stammered, clearly flustered as he fumbled with his notepad. “Can you give us your—“

“Name? Carlee Sinkus. Age? 21. Story? Marie walked into the water and didn’t come back up. The same story I told the other officers. Are you finished?”

“The burning—“ Sam attempted, but trailed off when he saw her exasperated expression.

“I have no idea, detectives. That’s your job, not mine.” With a small nod, she whipped around and started towards a beat-up green Honda, her fiery curls bouncing in time with her steps. While Dean’s gaze lasciviously scrutinized Carlee’s sumptuous curves, Sam frowned.

“Dean, did she seem just a little too… _not_ -terrified?” When his question went unanswered, he glanced towards his brother and summarily punched him in the shoulder to jolt him out of his gawking stare.

“I want one,” Dean muttered, returning Sam’s reproachful look with one of silent pleading.

The town that they’d found the job in was one of the outlying Cajun communities that lined the river and thrived off their fisheries. Since it was little more than a cluster of houses and docks, the Winchester boys were forced to seek out a place to stay elsewhere. Dean’s cajoling and the necessity of shelter forced them towards the next major city down the interstate.

As the sun slipped lower and lower over the levees, New Orleans came to life. The streets that had been crammed with camera-laden tourists were now host to a slew of street artists who punctuated the twilight with snippets of lazy jazz and mournful love songs.

“I’ve always wanted to come here.” Dean rummaged in his pocket to toss a few bills into a nearby trumpeter’s case. “Can we come back for Mardi Gras?”

“Voodoo priestess Marie Laveau was responsible for the integration of French Catholicism and African tribal rituals, a practice that it still revered in the city of New Orleans,” Sam read from a dusty hardcover that he’d discovered in a used bookstore.

“So we’re dealing with voodoo?” Dean asked, peering over his brother’s shoulder.

“Not necessarily.” Sam scanned a few of the bottom passages and continued, “Marie used her power to heal, not to curse. True practitioners would never use their spells to kill someone?”

“A rogue voodoo priestess,” Dean chuckled, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. “Sounds right up our alley.”

“Let’s find somewhere to eat,” Sam suggested. He shot a quick glance up the street to see if anything was available.

“That may be the best idea you’ve ever had, brother.” Clapping Sam heartily on the back, Dean sauntered towards the blinking fluorescent lights that boasted the “best po-boys on the bayou”. The two pushed through the doors of Acme Oyster House and seated themselves in the corner booth. Sam still had his nose buried in his book, so Dean flagged down the nearest waitress.

“Hey y’all, what can I—oh God, not you two.” Dean glanced up from the menu, brow furrowed, and was pleasantly surprised to see the redheaded witness that they’d questioned glaring down at him.

“Carlee Sinkus, age 21,” he offered a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves. I’m Director Fury and this is Agent Coulson.”

“Where’s Captain America?” she inquired acidly, setting glasses of water before them.

“Don’t be like that, darlin’,” Dean crooned, catching her wrist nimbly as she withdrew and tugging her into the booth next to him. “Stay awhile.”

“If my boss sees me, I swear to God, Winchester, I’ll wring your damn neck!” Sam started, his eyes narrowed at her slip-up, and Dean tightened his grip on her arm. 

“How do you know our name?” he hissed through clenched teeth, his gun already jabbed into her side. She shifted minutely so that it was shielded by the table, and leaned closer, her lips nearly grazing his ear.

“Don’t be like that, _darlin_ ’,” she breathed mockingly. “Lots of folks heard you’d be in town. We just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” Jerking back, she deftly extracted herself from his vise-like grip and flounced away. Dean and Sam watched her as she disappeared into the kitchens and exchanged a dark look.

“Definitely too not-terrified,” Dean confirmed with a nod.  


	2. The Kat of Babylon

**The Kat of Babylon**

**Part II**

 

Their waitress was replaced with a nondescript copy who served them shrimp po-boys and a few rounds of Abita. Sam and Dean finished their meal—each of them mired in their respective silences—paid the bill, and left the restaurant. The Impala was parked at their hotel, the Inn on St. Anne, so the pair started the rainy trek through the heart of the French Quarter and it wasn’t until they emerged dripping into the hotel lobby that Dean realized something was missing.

“Sam, wait,” he muttered, fumbling through his pockets. “The room key is gone.” He swore and withdrew his gun, brushing past the startled-looking clerk at the front desk. They took the stairs two at a time, only pausing for breath when they were perched outside their door and they could hear the hushed voices inside. Dean’s lips were seamed together in a hard line, his ear pressed against the whitewashed panel separating them and the intruders.

“Damnit,” a muffled voice snapped from within. “Where else could they have put it?” A stream of irritable curses followed, the lilting cadence easily recognizable as the curly-headed barmaid they’d just encountered.

_On three_ , Dean mouthed. Sam nodded curtly and positioned his shoulder against the door. When the countdown was complete, he shoved into it bodily and the two burst in past the shattered timbers.

Whatever element of surprise they had been planning on, it had apparently failed. Rather than staring at Carlee Sinkus’ shocked face from down the barrel of a gun, Dean found himself glaring cross-eyed down the length of a 9mm. A furtive glance revealed that Sam was in similar straits at the hands of an unfamiliar brunette.

“I missed you boys,” Carlee chirped, wrenching Dean’s gun away from him and tossing it on the counter. “We should start penciling these little get-togethers in the calendar.”

“What are you looking for?” Sam hissed, clearly reluctant to hand over his gun. Carlee’s unknown henchwoman relieved him of it with a smile and gestured for the pair of them to sit in the corner of the room.

“Nothing you won’t miss.”

“You won’t find it here,” a gravelly voice interjected. Carlee’s retort was cut off as all eyes whipped to the trench-coated figure that had appeared with his arm draped across the brunette’s shoulders, his fingers clutching at her throat.

“About damn time, Cas,” Dean snapped, standing and reaching for his gun. Almost gleefully, he directed Carlee to the chair that he’d vacated and bound her to it with spare rope from his duffel bag. “So who’s your friend?”

The question was directed towards Carlee, since Castiel’s hold on his victim had not quite relented enough to allow her speech. Despite her partner’s gasping, she surveyed Dean unconcernedly, her lips pursed in mild irritation.

“Dispensable,” she retorted after a thoughtful pause. “So feed her to your guard dog if you must.”

“She lies,” Castiel breathed. “They’re mercenaries. I’ve been tracking them for months.”

“What do they—ease up, will ya’, Cas?” Dean gripped Castiel’s wrist, prompting him to loosen his hold on the girl, who collapsed back against the angel’s chest, struggling to catch her breath. Castiel frowned vaguely, readjusting so that he was supporting her by her forearms. After a moment’s pause, she straightened and spun to face her captor.

“Is that an archangel blade in your pocket, Castiel,” she murmured, still shakily gulping for air, “or are you just happy to see me?”

“There is nothing in my pocket,” Castiel responded, bemusedly glancing at Dean and Sam for clarification. “Perhaps I don’t understand that reference…” Despite the seriousness of the situation, the shadow of a grin flitted across Dean’s face, but he tightened his jaw and refocused on Carlee.

“Where were we?” The barrel of his gun brushed across her temple, reminiscent of fingers smoothing away a lock of hair. “Introductions.”

“Kat.” The brunette was still wriggling a bit in Castiel’s grip, clearly perturbed about the proximity of the handgun to her partner’s head. “Kat Jakuback. We’re…supernatural bounty hunters, I guess you could say.”

“Bounty hunters?” Sam couldn’t resist a chuckle as he rifled through the contents that he’d extricated from her pockets. Already he’d spread across the table matching pairs of FBI badges, Wildlife Preservation cards, several IDs from different states and colleges, and a tube of red lipstick.

“They’ve stolen three archangel blades,” Castiel informed Sam and Dean. “And I can’t seem to track them from one location to the next?”

“So they have the same Enochian graffiti on their ribs as us?” Dean glanced at Carlee inquisitively, but her smug expression was devoid of any response.

“I can check, but I’d imagine the screaming would rouse the other guests…” Castiel shunted his captive into Sam’s arms, already rolling up one of his sleeves. Kat squirmed, looking considerably paler as the angel approached her and pressed his fingertips to her chest. “Try not to move too much,” he commanded quietly, steadying her with his free hand.

“Yes,” Carlee snapped, the feigned irritability in her tone only barely masking the slight tremor of fear. “A demon gave us the proper sigil.” As best she could, she nodded towards her chest in indication. Dean reached towards her, gingerly brushing the side of her uniform-issue button down open to reveal an intricate circular pattern of Enochian writing that curled dangerously close to the tiniest fringes of grey lace that had escaped during his investigation.

Eyes narrowed in what appeared to be intense focus, he continued to skim his fingers across the inscription on her skin, only drawing away when Sam’s cough jolted him from his reverie.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed gruffly, clearing his throat and backing away. “Yeah, that’s…that’s Enochian all right…”

“So what do we do with them?” Sam asked into the tangible silence that had invaded the room.

“We take them to Purgatory and hand them over to Raphael for questioning,” Castiel quipped as if this were the most obvious of solutions. The flush that had crept into Carlee’s cheeks from Dean’s touch evaporated at this, and though she masked it successfully with bravado, it was clear how she felt about that option.

“Whoa, whoa, easy tiger.” Dean shook his head, eager to redeem himself. “Let’s not jump the gun here. Are you sure you wanna bring them to Chuckles’ amusement park just ‘cause they stole a couple of his toys?”

“Purgatory is nothing like an amusement park, Dean,” Castiel corrected irritably, folding his arms adamantly over his chest.

“Let’s find a new motel and sleep on it,” Sam suggested with a shrug. “It’s not like we can do anything until morning anyway.” Dean nodded emphatically, and the two waited until Castiel begrudgingly rolled his eyes in approval and vanished.

“I’ll handle management, you get them to the car,” Sam instructed, tossing Dean the keys. With a curt bob of his head, Dean set about clearing their miscellaneous weaponry into a duffel bag while Sam ducked out of the room to create a plausible excuse for why the door to their room lay in splintered pieces in the hallway.

 

 


	3. My Angel Knows What You Did in the Dark

**My Angel Knows What You Did in the Dark**

**Part III**

Handling the managers was easier than anticipated, as it was apparently a commonplace New Orleans happenstance for doors to forcibly evict themselves from their hinges. Sam met Dean at the curb and chuckled darkly to see the young women in the backseat, bound at the wrists and blindfolded.

“A little BDSM for you, don’t you think, Dean?” he inquired teasingly as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Shut up and put in my “Asia” tape,” Dean snapped. “I’m not letting these two out of my sight.” Sam obliged his brother, turning the volume up sufficiently to drown the irritable mutterings in the backseat.

The forty five minutes towards Baton Rouge passed uncomfortably, the stiff silence only permeated by the crooning sounds of “Heat of the Moment”. Dean, who had been banking on their ignorance of Louisiana landscape and architecture, was crestfallen to see Kat’s instant recognition of her surroundings upon being divested of her blindfold. She remained silent, however, and the pair compliantly assented to have their bindings removed so they could unobtrusively pass through the hotel lobby.

“Bit posh, isn’t it?” Carlee remarked, surveying the high rise Renaissance hotel that eclipsed its provincial surroundings. Dean withdrew a leather billfold from his pocket, winking roguishly.

“Swiped this off a suit on Bourbon.” He reached for Carlee’s hand, aggressively lacing his fingers through hers while the group strode towards the front desk.

“The honeymoon suite, my good man,” Dean announced, slapping a handful of hundred-dollar bills on the counter. The portly managerial type surveyed them with glaring suspicion, gingerly prying the bills from underneath Dean’s palm.

“Two suites?” he inquired delicately as Sam draped an arm over Kat’s shoulder for effect. “For each of you gentlemen and your…dates?”

“Just the one,” Dean leaned in close murmuring to the clerk in a conspiratorial whisper, “We have eclectic tastes.” Grinning, he swiped one of the keycards from the startled man’s fingers, chuckling as he steered their party to the elevators.

“Send up two bottles of _Moët,”_ Kat called over her shoulder as an afterthought, flashing a smirk towards the brothers.

“Brilliant,” Sam grumbled. “We’re celebrating with the people who were trying to rob and kill us.”

“You wanted the honeymoon suite, dear,” she retorted, standing on tiptoes to plant a light kiss on his cheek. “Just trying to do the thing right.”

Castiel was already waiting when they arrived, his confused glaze flitting between the king-sized bed with crimson sheets, the fresh rose petals strewn across the floor, and the palatial sized marble washroom furnished with a bathtub large enough for two.

“Well,” Dean coughed, standing frozen in the doorway, “this is cozy.”

“The clerk brought libations.” Castiel offered Dean one of the two bottles, frowning. “He seemed to think you did something worthy of congratulation...” Sighing, Sam, Dean, Carlee, and Kat entered the room and settled themselves in respective corners. Sam contented himself with a stack of research, while Dean withdrew a half-empty bottle of Jack and summarily swigged a sip from it.

After a moment lost in his bottle, he glanced up and motioned for Carlee to join him at the table. Both she and Kat repositioned themselves across from him, the latter already pouring generous glasses of champagne.

“From the beginning,” Dean prompted with an absent wave of his hand. “How did you two get into this line of work?” Kat reclined in her chair, clearly content to listen and nurse her glass silently. Thin lines knit themselves together in Carlee’s brow as she pondered where to begin, aware that all eyes in the room were now upon her.

“We had a run-in with a crossroads demon about a year ago,” she finally admitted with a shrug of feigned nonchalance. “We’re just trying to pay off our debt.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on,” Dean interjected, holding up a hand. “You don’t just “have a run-in” with a crossroads demon. Did you summon it? What happened?”

“We didn’t think it was real.” Carlee’s fingers twisted around the stem of her glass, all bluster and courage now failing her. “It was stupid and naïve and we’re paying the price for it. That’s all, Dean.”

Dean felt a stab of pity for the pair; Carlee’s features were closed and expressionless, Kat’s eyes glassy and distant. Despite their botched attempt to make off with an archangel blade, he found himself very uncharacteristically drawn to the two girls who had made a deal with the devil.

“The truth now,” Castiel interjected roughly, swiveling their chairs so that they were facing him. His eyes blazed with something akin to fury, and Dean was shocked to see him so enraged. “Which one of you is Azazel’s daughter?”

At the mention of the yellow-eyed demon, all thought of pity was gone, all traces of reason evaporated. Like a man possessed, Dean had unconsciously drawn his gun. Instinct guided the tip of his weapon to rest none too gently against Kat’s temple, her identity exposed by the rising flush in her cheeks. Castiel made no move to stop him, and his victim merely flinched away from the cold metal, avoiding the eyes of everyone in the room.

“You’re not leaving this room alive,” Dean snarled, his hand now shaking violently.

“Dean,” Sam murmured, reaching cautiously for his brother, “give me the gun.” He moved closer slowly so as not to provoke him, but Dean flicked off the safety with a violent shake of his head.

“She’s a monster, Sam. We hunt monsters.”

“She’s just a kid.” Sam backed away a fraction of a step, torn between intervening and standing down. “She can’t help it.”

Aside from the slight fearful tremor that traversed the length of her spine, Kat was remarkably composed. She stared straight ahead blankly, her fists clenched in balls and her jaw tight. Dean crouched so he was eye level with her, gripping her chin and forcing her roughly to meet his gaze.

“Give me a reason I shouldn’t redecorate the wallpaper with the inside of your head,” he hissed, glaring at her through livid slits. She didn’t respond, afraid that her voice would fail her if she hazarded using it. The composition that she boasted on the outside was undone in her eyes, which were widened in pools of silent terror.

For a fraction of a second, he considered it—she could see the fire of conviction kindled in the way he surveyed her. Rather than pulling the trigger, however, he straightened and tossed the gun onto the bed, plowing a hand irritably through his hair.

“Get it out of here, Cas,” he hissed tersely. The angel nodded, reaching to grip Kat’s forearm and promptly disappearing.

Sam, clearly sensing his brother’s foul mood, quickly gathered his textbooks and vacated the room. Left alone with Dean Winchester, Carlee took the liberty of refilling his empty glass of whiskey. He stood, glaring out of the window and wordlessly took the drink from her. In one long gulp, without looking away from the twinkling Louisiana skyline, he had drained the contents.

“So what are you? Is anything you said true?” he inquired of her once he’d imbibed enough to control his rage. “Who throws their lot in with demon spawn?” Carlee sighed, rolling her eyes at Dean’s frustratingly dark disposition. She waited until he tore his glare away from the window and looked at her to begin.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, Dean Winchester,” she began, her blue gaze tracing the lines that weariness had drawn into his brow. “I could see you when you were in hell, and I know what they did to you there.” A surge of boldness and pity spurred her to rest the palm of her hand against his cheek. “I know everything that you carry here.” She shifted to his chest, the tips of her fingers resting just above his rippling heartbeat. They were close now, her voice little more than a whisper, her fingertips burning on his skin. The oaken smell of the whiskey on his breath mingled with the familiar worn leather of his jacket, and for a moment she knew she was lost to the sad man who she’d followed from afar for so long.

“I’m like Sam,” she reluctantly completed, drawing away from him as if she’d been scalded by his touch. “I can see things before they happen, and most of the time, they’re things about you.”

“So, you’re a psychic, you’re one of Azazel’s…experiments?” Dean blinked his heavy lids slowly, the whiskey clearly beginning to have an effect. Bemused by their encounter, he slumped into the nearest armchair, trying to ignore the flush that crept up the back of his neck at her touch.

“I’ve never met Azazel—at least, I don’t remember meeting him,” she confessed, picking up on the silent request for his depleted drink to be replenished. He nodded thanks as she drained the bottle into his glass. “But he’s taken something from me and I’d like to get it back.” She paused for him to brace himself with another swig. “And you’re going to help me, Dean Winchester.”

“Did he steal your diary?” Dean attempted with a weak chuckle at his own joke. Carlee shook her head, forcing a grim smile to counter the lump that was rising threateningly in her throat.

“He stole my sister.”


	4. Calling All Angels

**Calling All Angels**

**Part IV**

 

They appeared in a dark gladed niche that was nestled against the river. Castiel glanced about his surroundings, bemusedly prompting a small, hollow chuckle from Kat.

“I took the reins a bit,” she admitted with a crooked smile. “I’ve no desire to visit your boss just yet.” Castiel nodded and paced around the embankment with a furrowed brow.

She had brought him to what appeared to be an abandoned pier. Every surface that he could see was covered either in colorful street art, rust, or creeping tendrils of ivy. His charge, obviously familiar with the landscape, was already perched precariously atop a decrepit pile of disused machinery, staring broodingly into the water below. Heralded by a quiet fluttering of wings, Castiel sat beside her atop the raised platform, pensive.

“Don’t blame Dean for his outburst,” he attempted, his tone reconciliatory. “You _are_ an abomination.”

“You really know how to treat a girl,” Kat retorted unsmilingly. “I’m not who you think I am, Castiel.”

“You are a valuable bargaining chip in the battle against Lucifer.”

“Uncle Lucy,” she scoffed, irritably flinging a stone into the river. Her pretty face was marred by a fierce scowl that she turned on the angel. “I imagine you’ve met him?” Castiel nodded slowly while she crossed her legs and faced him.

“I haven’t, but my father is very important to him—or so I’m told.”

“Azazel is a good soldier,” Castiel conceded quietly, grimly. “Heaven is quite bent on tracking him down.”

“And I’m a meal ticket for both sides.”

The pair of them sat in contemplative silence for what felt like hours, watching the twinkling headlights passing over the bridge. Beneath them, clusters of college-aged students sat in circles, laughing and raising raspy voices to accompany the sound of guitars. A purple cloud of smoke wreathed around them, so thick they were barely visible from overhead. Castiel broke their stillness with a heavy sigh that bespoke ages of unacknowledged cares.

“Dean will have calmed down by now,” he murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder.

 They were in the hotel room in a flash, and Castiel instantaneously locked his hands around Kat’s wrists in a viselike grip. A spate of harsh laughter had begun upon their entrance, prompting a blind, confused struggle from the once-again captive.

“Well Castiel, I ought to give you a raise,” a coldly amused voice intoned from the corner. Dean and Carlee sat on the sofa, the latter looking shooting a fairly murderous glare at the balding man in a suit who was eying Kat interestedly.

“You _sold_ us out?!” Carlee snapped, leaping to her feet. A lazy flick of the stranger’s hand sent her crashing back down to the couch, haphazardly strewn across Dean’s lap.

“Oi, easy,” he hissed, an angry flush painting the back of his neck. Gently but hastily, he maneuvered Carlee off his lap and stood with his hands forward in a gesture of goodwill. “Let’s try to do this like grown-ups, Zachariah.”

“Shut up, you hairless ape,” the so-named intruder snarled back. “You should be thanking me for taking care of your pest-control problem.” He reached a hand towards Kat, who was still writhing in Castiel’s arms and gripped a handful of her hair tight in his fist. “You’re pretty for a hell-bitch, aren’t you? Shame all that’s about to go to waste…”

“About that,” Dean interrupted in a pseudo-casual tone. “We’re gonna need that back when you’re done playing with it. See, her old man’s kinda got something—“

A gust of wind and silence was his only response. As quickly as he had appeared, Zachariah had disappeared with Castiel and Kat. A stream of curses tumbled from his lips, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Friggin’ angels,” he muttered, shaking his head. Seeing the slightly panicked look on Carlee’s face, he moved to sit next to her, gingerly patting her shoulder in a would-be comforting gesture. “Don’t worry, Cas will get her back. We’ll get your sister.”

“It’s not just that.” Carlee’s features were puckered into a frown, the battle between anger and fear clearly written across her brow. “Kat’s a friend. She’s _practically_ a sister—what is he going to do to her?”

“Probably just ask her some questions.” In his mind he knew it was a lie, and as it escaped his lips even Dean Winchester lacked the conviction to make the hollow-sounding statement ring true. “Maybe forcefully ask her some questions,” he amended after a beat of silence. Seeing that this was doing nothing to assuage her fear, he was relieved that he was spared the trouble of continuing by his vibrating phone.

“Hello?” he snapped irritably into the receiver.

“ _Dean_.”

“Cas, where the hell are you? Where is she?”

“ _I can’t tell you Dean_ ,” he replied, his barking tones sounding thin and distant. “ _But Zachariah may have need of your…services before the night is over. Don’t leave the hotel._ ” Dean glanced at Carlee, who was eying him with curiosity, and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Torture her?” he hissed. “You’re kidding me, right, Cas? I told you I’d _never_ —“

“ _Wait for my call_ ,” the angel interrupted, and a small tone heralded the end of the discussion.

“ _Damnit_!” Dean swore loudly. In a fit of rage, he hurled his phone across the room, where it hit an adjacent wall and bounced harmlessly onto the bed.

“What’s going on?” a hysterical note had crept into the edges of Carlee’s voice. “Dean, what did Cas say?”

Dean swallowed, allowing his eyes to slide closed for a moment. In the darkness, the room wasn’t spinning, and he could escape from the nausea that was slithering up his throat. Alone in his mind, however, he was once again seared by the flames, lost in the feeling of Alastair’s blade dancing under his skin, utterly alone.

His eyes snapped open, and he forced down the bile that threatened to choke him. He faced Carlee with new determination, his features hardened against the cold reality of their situation.

“Cas is playing Zachariah,” he lied easily, reaching to twine his fingers through hers in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. “He told me to wait for his signal, and then we’ll get her back. In the meantime…” He smoothed an unruly lock of hair away from her forehead. “Shower and rest. I’ve got a bit of research to do.”

With an authoritative nod, he backed away from her, shedding his jacket and flannel button-down easily. In a swift, practiced movement, he tugged his undershirt over his head and tossed it to her, noting the way that her eyes roved shamelessly over his chest.

“That’s clean-ish,” he clarified, gesturing. “You know, if you wanted to get out of your uniform…” Carlee nodded slowly, the barest hint of a blush rising in her cheeks as she watched him crawl back into his faded flannel.

“Shower sounds good.” She swallowed, tearing her eyes away from his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. “Right.” Shaking herself, she disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door quickly. Dean’s self-righteous smirk vanished as soon as she did, and he sunk to the couch to dutifully wait for Castiel’s command.


	5. Rapture

**Rapture**

**Part V**

Carlee leaned against the other side of the door, her fingers locked around the worn shirt. The warm smell of Dean lingered on the threadbare patch of clothing, earthy and comforting, and she breathed it in unabashedly. Since Zachariah had disappeared, a slight buzzing had begun at the base of her skull, a tell-tale indication that one of her visions was encroaching. In the panic and confusion that had ensued following, she’d pushed the feeling away, but now that she was locked out of Dean’s sight, she released the barriers that had staved off the piercing headache.

She could feel it building like the crest of a wave, and she braced herself before it washed over her. Her knuckles had gone white with the force of her grip on the counter, Dean’s shirt still balled up in her fist. The first fringes of the tide reached her, and she succumbed with a small whimper of pain, glad that the sound of the shower running would drown her voice.

_The room she saw was dark save for a lone flickering light that illuminated a huddled figure tied to a chair. He features were bruised and bloody, and she was trembling—whether from cold or exhaustion, Carlee couldn’t tell. A hulking shadow circled her, a dripping knife discernible in his hands._

_“I don’t want to do this.” His voice was worn, anguished, unrecognizable. “Tell them what they want to know, Kat.” Whatever response she would have offered was drowned in a scream as his blade bit into her shoulder._

_“I don’t know,” she sobbed, her tears mingling with the dried blood on her cheeks. “I don’t know what he’s planning; I don’t know where he is. Please let me go, Dean.”_

_“You’re lying.”_ _He reached for a chalice and emptied its contents over her head, flinching ever so slightly as she writhed in pain._

The sound of breaking glass and the faint echoes of screaming brought Carlee out of her reverie. She had collapsed into the shower, her clothes already soaked through. The curtain, its rod, and the glass bottles that sat on the counter had been emptied onto the floor, and now lay in scattered pieces around her. Her throat burned, and she realized slowly that the screaming she’d heard had been her own.

Reality was a hazy blur. Carlee didn’t look up as the door was kicked in and Dean raced to her side. She could see his lips moving, almost as if someone had set her life to screen in slow motion, but the sounds that emerged were distant and hollow.

“Carlee, snap out of it,” he pleaded frantically, unconscious of the water that was pouring down on the two of them. With firm but gentle hands he helped her to sit up; anxiously watching until she dimly appeared to recognize her surroundings. “Jesus, what the hell was that?”

“You can’t,” she whispered nonsensically. “You can’t do it, Dean.”

With shaking fingers, she clutched at him, pressing her face into his chest as one would cling to a raft in the middle of the ocean. He didn’t try to understand, he knew that when he needed to, he would. His arms were an anchor for her, keeping her from being dragged back into the sea that existed in her head—a sea that threatened to suck her under. Neither of them measured the time that passed while he held her, letting the water wash away the scars that memories had left behind.

Carlee looked up, still clutching Dean’s now-soaked shirt, meeting his gaze as the water trickled over his head and down his face. Dean held her fast to his chest, his grip tight enough to bruise, capturing her lips roughly with his. He kissed away the streaks of tears that had escaped her lashes and held her until the warmth of his embrace stopped her trembling. But what started out as comfort quickly grew to something more, Dean furiously consuming Carlee, Carlee furiously consuming Dean.

The shadowy steam was a veil that separated Carlee and Dean from the cares that waited, teeth bared, outside the door. In the tiny solace that they’d created out of their shattered world, they didn’t speak; they didn’t need to. Their lips fit together perfectly, just as she knew they would, and they kissed each other desperately, like it was the only thing that mattered. The lines that had defined them were blurred by desperation, and they melted together.

They conducted their affair with ferocity, waiting until the water turned cold to move from the shower to the bedroom. Dean carried her the distance, depositing her gently on the edge of the bed and got to his knees. He started to unbutton her shirt, tasting the new exposure of flesh the buttons had opened. He stood up and started on her shoulder as he pulled her shirt from around her and threw it to the ground. Carlee grabbed his shirt and tore it from his body, needing the warmth he brought to comfort her. She pulled him by his belt buckle closer to him and explored his abdomen with her mouth while unzipping his pants. She tried to pull the shower-soaked denim over his finely toned ass when something inside Dean seemed to snap with heat as he grabbed her by the arms and threw her backwards onto the bed. He captured Carlee’s mouth with his, ripping her skirt down the middle and prying the jeans off of his own body. It was only when she lay next to him clad singularly in lace that he paused.

“Carlee?” he breathed, his voice a husky whisper, just inches from her. “We shouldn’t.” She answered his weak protestation by pushing herself on top of him, leading a trail of kisses down his chest which elicited a groan that slipped from between his gritted teeth. “Screw this,” he growled. His fingers tangled in her wet hair and he drew her back up so that her lips were crushed against his. He rolled over, settling on top of her when she groaned with pleasure, her hands roaming over his back until they reached his hair.

Dean released her lips and traced a thumb over the lace that threatened to spill the hidden mounds underneath. He pushed down the material and swirled his tongue around her hardened nipple, unsnapping her bra from the back and only lifting his head long enough to throw the wet lace to the floor. She writhed underneath him, dragging her nails across his back and moaning as he wreaked havoc on her breasts.

“Dean” she moaned, not able to handle the heat any longer. She grabbed his hair and brought his lips back to hers and moving down his neck. “Dean,” she whispered one more time as they looked into each other’s eyes. With one swift motion he entered her, filling her completely as she reveled in the feel of him. He slowly pulled in and out, letting her feel his entirety. She growled and bit his shoulder, “None of that.” “Yes ma’am,” was his only reply as his rhythm increased. She was in complete rapture with the man above her, arching her back to get as close to him as possible. Her breathing increased and he increased his speed, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Dean captured her mouth once more as she cried out and with one more push he sent them both over the edge.

Dean rolled over, pulling Carlee on top of him as they regained their normal breathing. Carlee trailed her fingertips over his tattoo as she snuggled into the curve of his neck. Dean’s phone lit up in the dark. “Is that Cas?” she mumbled sleepily as he checked the caller ID and the four other missed phone calls.

“No,” he lied, running his fingers through her hair. “Go to sleep,” he crooned as he pulled the covers over their sweat-drenched bodies. Within minutes, her breathing slowed, and Dean shifted so that his arm was around her. He closed his eyes and prayed for sleep, not even bothering to sit up when he heard Sam slip in with a muttered curse at the state of the room. Despite his plea, however, sleep evaded him.

When he could no longer adequately pretend that he’d been asleep Dean straightened and stood carefully so as not to disturb Carlee. Sam, who had returned with another armful of books, gave him a lingering glare that forewarned a lecture on “corrupting the innocent” and “making good choices”. Glad he’d at least had the foresight to slip on a pair of boxers before his brother returned, Dean dismissed him with an absent wave of his hand, heading to the bathroom to survey the damage they’d done.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice startled him, and after he’d jumped a foot in the air, he surveyed the angel irritably.

“What, Cas?” he snapped, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not going with you, if that’s what you want?”

“That won’t be necessary.” He waved a hand vaguely, running his fingers through his already haphazard locks. “She’s not awake yet.”

“Where is she?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.” Spying the liquor cabinet in the corner of the room, he moved towards it, unscrewing a bottle of vodka and draining its entirety in a swift gulp. “Zachariah thinks she’s the key to figuring out Azazel’s plans for Sam and the others. I’m inclined to agree with him.”

“Of course you’re “inclined” to agree with him,” Dean snarled, snatching the bottle from Castiel’s grip. “You’ve got your head up his ass. And quit it with the drinking, it’s not even noon.” Head cocked, Castiel paused to contemplate.

“I don’t even feel anything.” Adopting a serious frown, he dropped his voice to a murmur. “You _will_ come when I call you, Dean.” And he disappeared, leaving an irate Dean Winchester in his wake.

 


	6. And Other Acts of God

**And Other Acts of God**

**Part VI**

The room was dark when Kat came to, her vision swimming before her in a soupy blur. She could hear hushed voices fading in and out, but couldn’t make out the whispers that they were exchanging. It took a few minutes with her eyes squeezed shut to assess the situation: she was in one of heaven’s holding cells, she was manacled to a cold, metal surface in an almost ironic crucifix-like position, she was going to die.

“Ah.” She could discern Zachariah’s sneering tone moving towards her. “You’re awake.”

Kat blinked a few times, desperately hoping that this was just a bad dream, but his face reappeared every time she opened her eyes. Behind him, she could see Castiel bent over a table of what looked like surgical instruments—she knew better.

“We have some questions for you,” he continued, now circling her. “More specifically, Castiel has some questions for you—I’ve an important business meeting with the boys upstairs. Wouldn’t want to get the suit dirty.”

“I don’t know anything,” she snapped. “I’m his daughter, not his diary.” Zachariah clapped his hands together in unparalleled glee, flashing a twisted smile.

“We’ll see.”

They were alone again, and this time the silence that hung between them was almost deafening. Castiel appeared reluctant to meet her eyes as he approached with a syringe full of clear liquid. He wordlessly reached for her arm, rolling back her sleeve to expose her veins.

“Where is Azazel?” he murmured, finally turning his icy glance towards her. The cold metal of the needle brushed threateningly against her skin, and Castiel barely waited for her to shake her head to insert it into the crook of her arm.

The holy water burned through her veins, battling the demon blood inside of her. Mere seconds had eclipsed before she was writhing in pain, her lips pressed together to stifle what would have been piercing screams.

“Where is he?” Castiel repeated, straightening. He replaced the now emptied syringe on the tray beside him, watching her struggle with blank indifference.

“I don’t… _know_ ,” she snarled, her words forced out tautly between labored breaths. “I don’t have information, Castiel—“ He drew the back of his hand across her cheek sharply, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the stone chamber. The blow left a red stripe on her face, and she spit out a mouthful of blood from her split lip, now trembling in pain and fear.

“Where is your father?” he mechanically parroted. She couldn’t see, from her angle, what he was fumbling with on the table, but when the blade pressed against her throat, she knew what he was going to do.

“Cas,” she whispered, eyes wide. “I swear, I don’t—“ He started at her collarbone, dragging the knife down her chest, splitting easily through the fabric of her shirt and just deep enough to draw a well of blood. Where the holy water had been manageable, here she was unable to smother the raspy screams that he tore out of her.

~~~~

Azazel was almost finished watching the torched body of a woman fall to pieces before him when he got the call. It was Crowley, and his characteristically thick Cockney delivered delightful news.

“I knew she’d be useful eventually,” he chuckled, pocketing the phone. His current residence was home to a lovely Cajun family who’d been surprised to find that the knock on the door was not, in fact pizza, but a man with yellow eyes who’d laughed while he skinned them alive. His adopted “daughter”, Meg, was waiting for him in the living room when he reentered.

“You got my call, good girl.” She bobbed her blonde head in a quick nod, her lips twisted in a smile that reflected his amusement.

“She found the Winchesters?” Meg inquired, clapping her hands together gleefully. “And their celestial boyfriend?”

“Castiel has her, so Crowley claims. Her _friend_ ,” he sneered the word, “is with the Winchesters in Baton Rouge.”

“So we find them, and we’ve bagged the Winchesters and two of heaven’s biggest heroes—not too shabby for her.”

“Insipid creature,” Azazel chuckled, shaking his head. “She actually thought she could escape this.” Gesturing to the sofa, he retired to his armchair in the corner of the room. “Alastair knows where they are.”

“So now…?”

“Now we wait.”

~~~~

Dean was not lying next to her when she woke up. The sun had vanished in a pink sunset, and as Carlee finally straightened she realized that he wasn’t in the room at all. A stack of folded clothes sat on the bedside table with a wrinkled note perched atop. Smoothing out the crinkled paper, she recognized Dean’s untidy scrawl:

_Hope this fits. Meet me at the bar downstairs. –D_

How Dean determined her sizes was a mystery to her, but she quickly tugged on the pair of jeans and the green shirt that he’d left for her. The full extent of the havoc that they’d wreaked became clear to her as she gingerly picked her way over huge shards of broken glass and brushed past the door that was only half supported by its hinges.

True to his word, Dean was alone at the end of the bar, moodily nursing a half-empty glass. She could see, from the haggard lines in his face, that he hadn’t slept the night before and that he wasn’t on his first glass. When he saw her, a small smile crept across his worn features as she slid onto the stool next to him, a flush rising to her cheeks that she hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“You’re blushing,” he noted, perceptive even in the darkened setting.

“Thanks, Sherlock.” Her voice was harsher than she’d intended, but it only seemed to amuse him. “So…” Clearing her throat, she sipped at her drink. “Are we going to talk about last night?”

“I think we had sex,” Dean informed her after a moment of contemplation. He grinned, leaning in so that his lips brushed her ear. “And I think we’re going to again,” he whispered. Carlee shivered a bit, glancing around to ensure that no one had heard him, her cheeks now almost the color of her hair.

They would have been quite content to tend to their drinks, swapping sidelong glances and exchanging flirtatious banter, but Carlee knew that behind his stormy eyes Dean was hiding something.

“Have you spoken to Castiel?” she inquired delicately, gauging his reaction.

“He…he called,” Dean replied with feigned nonchalance. “Kat’s fine.” It would have been effective, were it not for the fact that he was gripping his glass so tightly that it was shaking in his fingers.

“Stop lying to me, Dean Winchester,” she hissed. “Castiel is torturing her. And he’s going to make you do it too.” Dean’s eyes were achingly hopeless, and he fixed her with a stare that nearly broke her heart.

“I have no choice,” he whispered, unconscious of the fact that she’d slid her fingers through his. “I owe Cas a debt.” His gaze was drawn to something across the darkened room, and she turned to see an angel in a trenchcoat watching them warily.

“It’s time.”


	7. I Am Human

**I Am Human**

**Part VII**

Castiel watched from the darkness as Dean worked, not quite far enough removed from the sobbing. Where once he would have blindly gone through the motions of extracting information, he felt ashamed to look into the face of the girl he couldn’t bring himself to believe was evil. It had been almost an entire day now, and he’d already brought her back to life twice—he and Zachariah both knew that she wouldn’t last much longer.

When Dean had reached a stopping point, Castiel gestured him into the adjoining room. He was silent, too distracted by the streaks of blood that coated his fingers and clothing to summon small talk.

“Nothing?” Castiel attempted when he glanced up. Dean shook his head slowly, his features ashen.

“She doesn’t know anything, Cas,” he murmured firmly. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Of course she doesn’t know anything, you fucking asshats!” Carlee yelled from where she was tied up across the room. When she had realized what was happening to Kat, she had become violent, attacking the angels and throwing everything within reach. Zachariah had been content to kill her off, but Dean had talked them into an alternative approach. So while she had been tied up for hours, it had not stopped her from mouthing off the entire time.

“Then she’s useless,” Zachariah interrupted, strolling casually Dean’s side and clapping a hand to his shoulder. “Castiel, kill the ginger and see if that jogs her memory.” The trenchcoated angel paused, glancing from the celestial authority to his friend, clearly torn. Dean, however, shared none of Castiel’s hesitation, and wasted no time in turning the bloodstained blade in his hands on the balding gentleman.

“You listen to me,” he snarled, clutching Zachariah closer by his shirt front. “If you harm a hair on her head, I swear to whatever god you want that I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands.”

“Dean, Dean,” he chuckled, aimlessly brushing him away. “I think you seriously underestimate the importance of the information this girl has.”

“She _doesn’t_ ,” he snapped. “Cas and I have been at it for hours.” Castiel shuffled nervously from one foot to another, beginning to pace around them. He contemplated the situation for a moment before rejoining their company.

“Zachariah, you question her,” he suggested. “If anyone can get information, it’s you.”

If he was suspicious of Castiel’s motives, he didn’t show it. As soon as he disappeared into the next room, Cas turned to face Dean who had walked over to where Carlee was still thrashing against her bonds.

“I’m sending you two to Bobby’s,” he informed them hastily. “Sam should be on his way, he left yesterday night.”

“But what about Kat?!” Carlee shook her head.“I’m not leaving without her!”

“I’ll bring the girl. I think I’m beginning to question Zachariah’s motives.”

Seeing a sarcastic retort forming on Dean’s lips, he didn’t leave space for further conversation, but pressed two fingers to both of their foreheads and watched them disappear. Jaw set, he strode back into the interrogation room in time to see Zachariah depositing a handful of salt into the gouges in Kat’s skin.

Her screaming was nearly intolerable. Hours of use had left her voice raw and raspy and exhausted. The result was a shaky, cracked sob that ripped through his chest. He reached to grip Zachariah’s arm as he bent over her, tugging him back roughly.

“That’s enough,” he murmured firmly. “She doesn’t know anything.”

“Then she dies, Castiel.” His superior shrugged nonchalantly, reaching for a blade. Castiel banished it from his hand, his eyes flashing with anger. Another glancing blow threw him into an adjacent wall, just far enough for Castiel to reach Kat in time to disappear.

He blinked and was standing in Bobby Singer’s living room, the girl’s limp body clutched to his chest. Dean, who had been lost in a glass of whiskey, leapt to his feet at Cas’ arrival.

“I can’t stay, I have to hold them off,” Castiel muttered hastily. He raced down the stairs with Dean in his wake, carefully shifting her into his arms at the door of the panic room. “I’ll heal her later, I don’t have time. Don’t let her die.” The hurriedly barked instructions preceded his disappearing once more, seemingly heedless of the blood that had stained the front of his normally pristine button-down.

Carlee, Bobby and Sam, having apparently heard Castiel’s arrival, flooded down the stairs. Seeing her friend’s quivering form in Dean’s arms, Carlee paled a bit but ran to open the door for him so he could deposit her on the cot.

“Goddamnit,” Bobby growled, already rifling through his basement for medical supplies. “Feathers couldn’t spare a damn second to patch her up? Sam, upstairs by the whiskey there’s a coupl’a shots of morphine, bring ‘em all.”

“Towels, Bobby,” Carlee snapped. Her fingers were already slicked with blood by the time he appeared with the scraps of cloth, but she directed Dean to hold them down. “Pressure there, Dean,” she instructed. Kat, who had heretofore been lying motionless, shuddered as Dean pressed down on her wounds. A small, cracked moan escaped her lips and her groping fingers found one of Carlee’s hands. Words failed her, but they could all see the raw pain that crouched behind her fluttering eyelashes.

“Give her the damn morphine,” Dean spat through clenched teeth, unable to tear his gaze from the mutilated crimson patchwork that stretched across her skin. Wordlessly, Carlee snatched the syringes that Sam reappeared with, injecting one into Kat’s bruised arm.

“You’ll be okay,” she whispered, running a hand over her friend’s feverish brow with tears in her eyes. “You’re gonna be fine, Kat.”

“C-Castiel,” she coughed after a fair bit of struggle. “And Dean?” Her trembling fingers hunted his desperately until they were caught in his hands.

Dean Winchester’s normally laughing green eyes were shallow pools of tears as he beheld his handiwork. He cleared his throat in an attempt to banish them, but the feel of her small, cold fingers laced through his was enough for them to overflow their banks.

“Kat,” he murmured, his voice thick and choked. “I didn’t…I’m so sorry.” Tiny rivulets of unchecked tears streaked down his cheeks while the medicine began to take hold of her. 

 “It hurts,” she managed to whisper, her fingers slackening and falling from his grip before she was comatose once more.

Bobby and Sam returned upstairs to hunt down more whiskey, but Dean remained a poised statue next to her bed. The morphine had slowed the bleeding, and after few tense minutes, Carlee was able to reach for Dean. He didn’t respond to her touch, merely stared hollowly at Kat’s ashy features.

“Dean,” she attempted carefully, moving to sit next to him. “She’s going to be fine. Cas’ll fix her up when he gets back.”

“I’m a damn monster,” he croaked without looking at her. “ _I_ should be the one hunted.”

It took hours of quiet urging while standing vigil by Kat’s bedside, but Carlee finally managed to coax Dean into the spare bedroom in Bobby’s attic. Eager to strip off his bloodstained clothing, he fumbled over the buttons on his shirt with exhaustedly trembling fingers. Carlee caught his arms in hers, sternly placing them at his sides, and finished peeling off his soaked garments.

She led him by the hand into the shower, and patiently lathered his hair until the blood and grime had been rinsed away. He didn’t speak, but held her against his chest in silent gratitude, allowing the rest of his tears to leak out unnoticed when she couldn’t see. They slid into bed that night with nothing but skin to separate them, and Dean surrendered himself helplessly to her kisses.


	8. Not Broken

**Not Broken**

**Part VIII**

 

It wasn’t until the next morning that Castiel arrived, silently intruding on the group of them having breakfast. Dean, Sam, and Bobby glanced up at his entrance, unsurprised, and they followed him downstairs to the panic room where Carlee was sitting by her comatose friend.

“Break the sigil,” he instructed her, gesturing to a cluster of painted Enochian scrawling on the floor. “And leave us.” Carlee shot Dean a glare, silently questioning the wisdom of letting the angel into the room with the girl he’d beaten within an inch of her life. A short nod prompted her to her feet, and she reached to scratch a few flakes of paint away so the angel could step in.

“We’ll be upstairs, Cas,” Sam called over their shoulders. He pulled the door halfway closed so that Carlee and Dean could, doubtless, listen for any trouble without him knowing.

He approached her gingerly, treading on light footsteps so as not to wake her. The plan, as he’d recited to himself, was to heal her quickly and disappear before she had a chance to see him—he didn’t think his conscience would withstand looking her in the eyes. Dean would be understanding, he would never speak of her again. The Carlee child that had taken to following him about would be quiet for Dean’s sake, if nothing else. He could get away scot-free from the messy situation that he’d landed in.

And it _was_ messy. His latest in an ever-expanding list of casualties was breathing only shallowly. Puncture wounds spanned the length of her torso and bruising was tattooed across every inch of visible skin. The same heated flush that had sent shivers down his spine in the interrogation room warmed the back of his neck again. All plans to run away from the gory havoc that he’d wreaked disappeared as he took in the injuries she’d sustained.

Castiel laid gentle fingers against her temples and pulled Kat back to consciousness. She was further away than he’d anticipated, and by the time her eyelids finally began fluttering shakily, his chest was still tight with the exertion.

“Castiel.” It wasn’t the fury that broke his heart, it was the lack thereof. She breathed his name in a strained whisper, and it stabbed at him to hear that she sounded terrified. “I told you,” she struggled, her eyes wide. “I don’t—“

“You’re at Bobby Singer’s house,” Castiel interrupted, pressing a finger to her lips to silence her. “I need you to be still.” Despite his best efforts, his voice was shaky as he tried to reassure her. “This may…hurt a bit.”

She flinched as he bent towards her, but he moved in so that his lips were grazing the tip of her ear. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Dean and Carlee both burst into the room at Kat’s sharp gasp of pain, the former already wielding his handgun. Rather than the writhing mass that they’d expected, Kat’s bones had knit themselves back together and all the bloody gouges on her chest had been seamed. Castiel held her head in his hand almost tenderly, brow furrowed and calculating as he gauged her reaction.

“Damnit,” she managed to spit out, sitting up shakily and inspecting her surroundings. “I look like a damn mess.” Carlee laughed at this, a nervous and relieved sound, and raced to wrap her friend in hug that threatened to re-break her ribs. When Castiel made a noise in the back of his throat that bespoke his disapproval, Carlee drew back just long enough to slap him sharply before returning to her friend.

“That’s for what you did to Kat,” she hissed, sounding vengeful. “And I’ll finish with you later.” This elicited a small, smothered-sounding chuckle from Kat, who managed after few moments of struggle to extricate herself from her friend’s arms.

“I missed you too.” Shakily, as if unsure of her own feet, she climbed out of bed and almost fell over in an attempt to stand.

“Whoa, whoa.” Dean caught her before she hit the ground and righted her. “Easy, tiger.”

“It was a difficult healing,” Castiel announced, warily keeping a distance from the redhead. “Take your recovery slowly.”

“If it’s all the same to y’all,” she interjected. “I think I’d like to take a shower.” Without looking at Castiel or Dean, she stumbled out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Carlee to babysit her dejected-looking friends.

“We should say something.” It was more of a question, than a statement, that Castiel asked open-endedly to the pair of them. Dean was frozen, his fists and jaw clenched in righteous self-loathing that did not abate when Carlee took his hand comfortingly.

“Is it too early for a beer?” he inquired of her when he’d calmed down sufficiently. She smiled up at him, shaking her head.

“I don’t see why not.”

~~~~

Upstairs, under Sam’s directive, Kat was peeling off her torn, bloodstained clothes and stepping into a steaming shower. Castiel had healed her up well enough, but the scars that he’d left in her head wouldn’t come clean no matter how much she scrubbed at them. Still, it felt good to lather the blood and dirt out of her head, and she lingered much longer than she should have under the warm water. When she’d sufficiently banished the grime off her person, she wrapped herself in a towel and moved to the mirror to survey the damage that had been done. With a sweep of her hand, she cleared a stripe of steam off the pane of glass, and jumped to see a trench-coated figure standing in the reflection.

“Castiel,” she gasped, whirling to face him. “What the hell?!”

“I waited,” he attempted in a reconciliatory stammer. “Until I was assured that you were sufficiently clothed…”

“Jesus.” Shaking her head, she ran a hand over her face in exhausted frustration. Though she didn’t outwardly express any fear of the angel, she had backed away from Castiel as much as the tiny room would allow, clutching the towel more tightly around herself. “If you’re here to apologize, save your breath.”

“I’m here to explain,” he corrected. She tensed as he moved closer, and gauged the probability of being able to slip out of the bathroom before he could reach her. “I didn’t have a choice in what I did.”

“Of course you did,” she snapped. The terrified gnawing in her stomach that had begun when Castiel appeared was growing in ferocity with every step he took closer to her. Finding no escape, she shoved him with her free hand when he got within reach of her—the force of her fear and anger coupled with her demon blood threw him back against the wall with a sickening crunch. She recoiled at this, and danced nervously from one foot to another. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I suppose it’s deserved,” he sighed, brushing flakes of paint off his coat. “Please let me explain.”

“What’s there to explain? You were a good little soldier, Castiel! You did everything you were told even when you knew it was wrong—and when you couldn’t anymore, you made Dean do it for you!” Kat had edged forward during this tirade, and Castiel made no attempt to stop her, even when she opened the door and paused in the doorway. She was afraid of him, he could see it in the way that she avoided meeting his gaze, and he was surprised at how much it hurt.

“You’re not an angel,” she added as an afterthought. “You’re a monster.”

On her way out of the bathroom, Kat backed into Sam, who’d apparently heard the sound of the wall being stowed in. He blushed to see her so indisposed, but she waved her free hand absently.

“This doesn’t look like a “chilled pinot grigio” type joint,” she remarked, glancing from the moldy curtains that bedecked the windows to the dusty picture frames that littered the hallway. Seeing Dean pop his head up the staircase to investigate the ruckus, she gestured for him. “Okay, Moose. Take Dopey on a supplies run—I’m gonna need two 1.5 liter bottles of Barefoot pinot grigio, a family sized jar of Jif reduced fat peanut butter, some frozen edamame, a bag of Lindt milk chocolate truffles, and this month’s issue of Cosmo—any questions?”

The brothers exchanged bewildered stares, which Kat ignored as she flounced towards the bedroom that have been allocated to her with as much dignity as could be managed from a woman in draped in a towel.

~~~~

Meg and Azazel were perched along the fringes of the forest that outlined Bobby’s house, and they watched the boys drive away with a certain measure of glee. The angel was still inside, but they suspected that there wouldn’t be a problem with the brooding Castiel, especially since they’d hired a slew of new recruits who were itching to take down one of God’s chosen.

“We’ll wait until the angel leaves,” he announced to their band of seven. “Then we’ll lay a trap for him with his favorite pets as bait. You are _not_ to harm any of them without my express permission—is that understood?” He grinned at the exuberant chorus of assent that he received and turned his attention back to the house.


	9. Radioactive

**Radioactive**

**Part IX**

Sam and Dean returned an hour later, the latter already heavily invested in the purportedly “amazing” sex tips that the cover of the monthly issue of Cosmopolitan boasted.

“Dude,” he chuckled, oblivious to his brother fumbling with the groceries. “Listen to this—apparently if you put salt on your tongue before you—“

“Dean! A little help?” Sam’s irritated snarl jerked him out of the pages, and he grumpily obliged.

The girls were sitting with Bobby in the living room, pouring over some photos that he was handing them and giggling between themselves. Castiel guarded the room silently, his pensive expression betraying the angst that he was feeling regarding Kat. She avoided looking anywhere in his direction, but Carlee made up for it by shooting him lethal glares every few moments, as if to remind him that he would never quite be off the hook.

“Could y’all crack open those bottles now?” Kat called over the sound of one of Bobby’s “back in my day” stories. Clearly relieved to have other company, Castiel abandoned the living room and joined Sam and Dean in the kitchen.

The boys had brought back more than the prescribed list of groceries, and they feasted that night on cheap wine and take-out. By the time the evening was drawing to a close, even Castiel—who had augmented his alcohol consumption with several of Bobby’s bottles of aged whiskey—was feeling a cheerful buzz.

“Time to turn in?” Carlee inquired, already nestled into Dean’s shoulder. “We’ve got a hell of a day tomorrow tracking Azazel down.”

They agreed and retired to their separate rooms; Sam to the sofa, Dean and Carlee to the guest room, Bobby to his bedroom, and Kat to the spare room on the first floor. Castiel, as he had no reason to sleep, stepped outside to guard the house, oblivious to the demons lying in wait for him.

The comfortable, sleepy drunkenness that had seized Dean and Carlee sent them to sleep before they’d had a chance to rip their respective clothing off. For the first time in a long time, they both fell asleep peacefully, tangled in each other’s arms.

Carlee’s dream started out as innocuous: _She was with Dean; sweating, gasping, writhing in his grip. He’d pinned her to the bed, and his mouth left a hot trail of kisses down her neck. Ignoring her half-hearted protestations, he let his tongue lazily capture her earlobe, and he nipped at it gently, chuckling._

_“You’re all mine, Carolyn,” he murmured, his eyes flashing with dark desire. “And there are so many things I want to do to you.”_

_She wasn’t sure what said “things” were, and maybe she would never be. At that moment, the door crumpled beneath the weight of a booted figure that wasted no time in tearing the two of them apart. He clutched Carlee by the arm, dragging her bodily out of the bed and he threw Dean out of the way with a lazy flick of his wrist._

_“The lovebirds,” a familiar chuckling voice crooned as they were marched down the stairs. Azazel was infinitely pleased to see that Dean was struggling mightily against the two demons that were restraining him. Similarly, Bobby was held down by a brutish-looking thug who’d wrapped pudgy fingers around his throat. Meg was holding Sam at bay with a knife to his throat, and Kat was in her father’s none-too-fatherly arms. “Hello angel,” he murmured, kissing her forehead. “Long time no see.”_

_“Let them go,” Kat snarled, twisting furiously in Azazel’s grasp. He laughed at her attempts and gestured to one of the men in the door who held Carlee’s unconscious sister in his arms._

_“Be nice, Kathryn, I came to deal. It’s not your little friends we want, it’s the angel.”_

_“He left us,” she lied quickly. “He says I’m an abomination. He’s not coming back, you’re too late.”_

_“You always were an awful liar, you know that?” Meg snapped from across the room, pressing her blade so closely against Sam’s neck that a tiny blossom of crimson appeared on his skin._

_“Kill the kid, then.” Azazel gestured to the demon who held Alex, and he exited the house with a smirk, seemingly deaf to Carlee’s screams._

She awoke in a cold sweat, shaking from head to toe. Strong arms were around her, and calming words were being whispered in her ear, but it took a few minutes of coaxing until she was lucid enough to determine her surroundings.

“Bad dream?” Dean inquired gently when she’d finally calmed. “What’d you see?” Sniffling, she scrubbed the beginnings of tears away from her eyes and nestled closer to him.

“Azazel is coming for us, he knows where we are.”

“Who’s he coming for?” Dean already had a hand on the gun under his pillow, and scanned the room cursorily for evidence of demon infiltration. “You, Kat or Sam?”

“Castiel,” she corrected. “He needs to kill Cas before he can take Kat back.”

“What does he want with her anyway?” With one hand still stroking her hair comfortingly, he struggled into a shirt. Despite the lateness of the hour, he fired off a quick text to Sam warning him to stay inside the house.

“She’s got information about his plans,” Carlee theorized, shrugging. “He took Alex to get to her, though.”

“Son of a bitch,” he swore quietly, abandoning their bed to grab the nearest of his concealable weaponry. “I’m gonna go find Cas, you stay here.”

“The hell I will,” she shot back. Before he could protest, she wriggled into his abandoned undershirt and stood, following him down the stairs to sound the alarm.

~~~~

Castiel could not read minds, but the closer he got to the cloud of smoke that emanated from the corner of Bobby’s lot, the more distinctly he could tell that she was thinking about him. Between the faded images of him standing over her with a knife, his face swam into focus, concerned and sad as he watched her.

“I can hear you, Castiel,” Kat called without turning around. He moved closer to her cautiously, wary of any weaponry that she may have on hand. She made no attempt on his life, however, and after a moment of silently perching just outside of her reach, he clambered to sit next to her in the truck bed.

“I don’t suppose angels smoke.” She exhaled slowly, offering him a rather crushed-looking pack of hand-rolled cigarettes. He could tell by the lazy way her eyes roved over him that she wasn’t completely sober, but he offered no complaint, glad that she was finding comfort in something—even if it was a bottle.

“No,” he admitted, clearly confused by the small paper rolls. His baffled expression prompted a dry chuckle from her, but she made no comment on his obvious naiveté.

For all of his eternal wisdom, Castiel found himself strangely speechless as they sat beneath the midnight sky together. It was not until several minutes after she’d ground the stump of her cigarette under her heel that either of them broke the tense stillness between them.

“Do you know how many stars there are, Castiel?” she inquired, her eyes lost in the inky blackness overhead.

“Only our father knows.” His voice was gently humble, and she smiled, lying back with her fingers laced behind her head.

“They’re beautiful,” she sighed. Though clearly enchanted by the celestial bodies overhead, there was an undertone of sadness in Kat’s voice as she watched them, a grief that couldn’t be spoken.

“You’re more beautiful than the stars,” he informed her earnestly, fixing her with a silently piercing stare. The flush that crept up her cheeks was Kat’s only response to his reverently whispered adoration.  She composed herself before rolling onto her side so they were facing each other on the bed of the truck.

“Kiss me.” It wasn’t a request, but a demand, and one that startled the unsuspecting angel. Seeing his brief flash of panic, she grinned and wriggled closer to him, taking his fingers in hers. “What, never kissed a girl?”

His blank stare was answer enough, and he didn’t dignify her query with a response. Instead, he reached to hold the back of her head, gently tugging her closer until his lips brushed over hers.

“Now I have,” he affirmed with a small smile. He made no comment on the blush that colored her cheeks, but pulled her to her feet and started back towards the house.

“Wait, where are you going?” Kat cleared her throat to keep it from shaking, and attempted—wholly unsuccessfully—to mask her confusion with indifference.

“If there’s going to be kissing,” he called without turning around. “I’m going to need more wine."


	10. Angeles

**Angeles**

**Part X**

 

A bottle of Barefoot later found them retired in the panic room of Bobby’s basement, Kat’s breathy moaning only slightly masked by the iron surrounding them. Castiel had pressed her against a free wall, his hips pinning her backwards. She was unconscious of the bruising that had begun to grow at the ferocity of his grasp, or was too lost in his embrace to care.

“What would your God say now?” she murmured against his lips, breath hitching as his fingers traced her waist lazily. He frowned, clearly irritated by her query, and silenced her with a forceful kiss.

From the way Kat’s hands moved to grip his tie and hair, tugging him ever closer, it was apparent that she didn’t mind his silence. She struggled with the knot for a moment until it fell from around his neck, shortly followed by his trenchcoat which pooled in a heap at their feet. Possessed by some devilish instinct, he gathered her into his arms and moved more quickly than she could blink to pin her down to the cot that had been abandoned in the corner.

Just as rapidly, her fingers flew through the buttons on his shirt while he tore hers away and abandoned it to the floor. Now unhindered by burdensome layers, they pressed against each other: the demon and the angel tangled in a fervent embrace.

The throes of their passion were interrupted by the sound of Dean clearing his throat.

He stood, frozen in a sort of horrified gawk, in the doorway, clearly struggling to take in the scene before him. Castiel straightened, and moved so he was no longer straddling Kat’s waist, and she shot him a look of massive irritation. For a few moments, he struggled for words and cleared his throat to regain speech.

“I’m going to need a lot of whiskey to wash that image down,” he finally managed, shaking his head slowly.

“Did you come down here to be a cockblock, or was there actually a purpose for your interruption?” Kat snapped. Having torn her shirt in two, Castiel shed his and draped it over her shoulders.

“Uh, yeah. Carlee saw something, come upstairs…if you’re finished.” Shuddering, he disappeared, leaving the two of them staring at each other in silence. Kat stood to leave, flushed with embarrassment, but he caught her wrist gently and halted her.

“Kathryn,” he murmured, eyeing her tenderly. At the silently pleading expression in his eyes, she sighed and abandoned her prickly defenses. He straightened and kissed her quickly, reaching to snag his trenchcoat and tie before following Dean up the stairs.

Sam, Carlee, and Bobby—who were all clustered in the living room—gave Castiel the same horrified look that Dean had shot them when they emerged from the basement. It hadn’t seemed possible, but their eyes grew even wider when Kat surfaced, swathed in his button down and looking dangerously irritable.

“Are you _kidding_ me right now?” Carlee exclaimed, glancing between the two of them with a mixture of confusion and exasperation. “What the _actual_ fuck are you doing, Kat?”

“Not Cas,” she snapped back, glaring. “No thanks to you, Dean!”

The elder Winchester, who had disappeared for a moment to fetch Castiel another shirt, rolled his eyes and tossed the wadded article to the angel. Cas caught it deftly, unabashed by the blank stares that Bobby and Sam were still sporting.

“Well this is _real_ nice,” Bobby managed after another lengthy silence settled in their midst. “I’m runnin’ a damn brothel here. Even the bible-thumpin’ asshat is gettin’ some.”

“I do hope there’s room for one more,” a smooth Cockney voice interjected. The vacant corner of the room had, in the interim of their discourse, been filled with a sharply suited gentleman who was surveying the scene with amusement. “You’re not taken—are you, Sammy?” The shadow of a grin crossed his face as he registered the confusion that kept the hunters frozen in their place. Adopting a businesslike manner, he gestured to the markings on the windows that intended to keep the demons at bay.

“The trouble with these warding sigils,” he informed his captive audience casually, “is that some of them don’t work for the big chiefs downstairs.” Reaching towards one, he scraped away a line of paint, just enough to allow a crew of demons to burst into the room.

Castiel was pinned backwards by two of the demon henchmen, an archangel blade pressed against his throat to prevent him struggling. Sam and Bobby were likewise restrained by their own thuggish mercenaries, and Dean found himself seated behind Bobby’s desk, his neck straining against Meg’s grip on his hair. Kat was struggling madly, trying to break free of Azazel’s viselike grasp, and only Carlee remained untethered in the center of the room.

“This…this isn’t what I saw,” she protested, her gaze flickering between the knife that was digging into Dean’s throat and the panicked expression that had overcome Kat at the appearance of her father.

“Cheer up, ducky,” the demon with the British lilt murmured to her in a would-be soothing reassurance. “We demons have a few tricks up our sleeves.” He clapped his hands together, beginning to pace the length of the crowded enclosure. “To business, though. Wouldn’t want to get chummy before we start tearing each other’s throats out.”

“What do you want, Crowley?” Sam snapped without tearing his seething glare away from Azazel.

“It’s simple, Moose,” the demon answered silkily. “And, frankly, it’s a damn good deal—if I do say so myself.” His path halted in front of Carlee, and though she flinched away from his touch, he distractedly brushed a finger across her cheek. “Lucy sent us up here to recruit you lot: Dean graduated with an impressive degree from the University Down Under; Azazel’s been feeling a bit “empty nest syndrome” lately; I like redheads; and the weather in the basement is gorgeous this time of year.”

“I’m not going _anywhere_ with you,” Kat snarled to her father, still writhing in his grip. Crowley spun on his heel and reached for her, gripping her chin in his fingers and leaning close.

“No talking, kitten,” he snapped venomously. “You’re grounded. Uncle Lucy doesn’t like it when traitorous bitches abandon their family to throw their lot in with these space cadets. No offense,” he resumed conversation with the group at large.  

“No deal,” Dean snarled, his voice weak and strained. Meg hissed in displeasure and jerked back on his head, slicing a thin crimson rivulet into his taut skin.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” Crowley sighed with a shake of his head. “I was hoping we could resolve this amicably without any bloodshed.” He nodded, almost imperceptibly, to the demon that held Bobby by the throat, and though Dean’s eyes widened in horror, there was no time to recall his words before a sickly crunching sound echoed around them.

Bobby Singer slumped onto the carpet, his sightless, glassy gaze blessedly bemused and ignorant. The toe of a boot banished him into the corner, the once-proud demon hunter now reduced to a lifeless meat sack. Though horrifying, the sight of his body was nothing compared to the wrenching cries of the boys that he’d left behind.

Dean was too shocked for tears—they would come later—but he fought madly against the two demons that now held him down, his eyes wild with crazed grief. Like a man possessed, he scratched and clawed at his captors, paying no heed to the welts and scrapes that he was sustaining. Sam had been pinned down to his knees, and streams were already running down his cheeks as he beheld the body of the best father he’d ever known. His frame shook with sobs, but he made no move to free himself, only looked on in horror.

“I tried to be reasonable,” Crowley interjected once the two had managed to contain Dean. The smirking demon had wrapped an arm around Carlee’s waist to restrain her, and turned his attention from Dean’s quivering form to the livid redhead that he’d captured. “That’s the problem with you Winchesters,” he sighed, running his free hand through her hair. “You never quit when you’re ahead.”

“Let her go,” Dean managed to choke, his voice breaking. “You won, Crowley, we’ll go.”

“No, shan’t,” Crowley replied with an airy sigh. “I hope the boss-man lets me keep her when we get home. I would _so_ look forward to deflowering your lady fair—perhaps he’ll even let you watch, Dean.” Smirking, he bent forward and caught her lips in a fierce kiss, his eyes trained on Dean’s as he prized her mouth open with his tongue and devoured her.

The sight of her struggling was enough to send hot streaks of angry tears down Dean’s cheeks, and though he wrestled with all the strength he had left, it was to no avail. When he’d finished with her, Crowley shunted Carlee into the arms of an attending demon, glancing at Alastair.

“Well I think they’re ready, don’t you?” The yellow-eyed demon smirked and petted his daughter’s hair, immune to the way his touch made her shudder.

“This little one just can’t _wait_ to see her uncle,” he chuckled.

“Smashing.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the shabby living room melted from around them, replaced in an instant with a whitewashed hallway. The Winchesters were too numb to be shocked by the lack of hellfire and brimstone in the unDante-esque receiving room where they’d landed. A door to their right opened, and a weathered, smirking specimen emerged, looking positively delighted to see the group of them on his doorstep.

“Lucy!” Crowley chuckled, reaching to shove Kat onto her knees before the king of hell. “I’m home!”


	11. Beg For Mercy

**Beg for Mercy**

**Part XI**

Lucifer was beaming down at his guests, his glee twisting a knot of fear in Carlee’s stomach. She swallowed the bile that had risen to her throat, however, and tangled her fingers in Dean’s. The devil brushed past Kat, affectionately patting her on the head on his way to inspect Castiel.

“Hello, brother,” he chuckled, clapping a hand to the angel’s chest. “About time you came to visit.”

“Lucifer,” Castiel intoned gravelly. “You know they’ll come for us.” The king of hell ignored this, and moved to survey the Winchester brothers with a broad smirk.

“Dean, so good to see you again—and you brought little Sammy, charming. I’m sure Alastair will be thrilled to see you; he’s been lonely since you left us. And _this_ must be the Carlee I’ve heard so much about!” He turned his green gaze to her, and, emboldened by the sadness in Dean’s eyes, she did not flinch, but stared back coldly. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, capturing her in a brutal kiss. “We’re glad to be gifted by your unique talents.”

Carlee considered him for a moment, her lips pursed, and decided against her wiser judgment to send a right hook into the devil’s cheek. Caught off guard by the fury hidden by her otherwise neutral expression, he did not duck in time. Lucifer drew back, touching an incredulous hand to his split lip, still sporting an amused smirk.

“Crowley was right about you,” he noted, nodding to a pair of demons who summarily restrained her. “Temper to match your hair.” Having finished his rounds, the devil reached for a handful of Kat’s hair, tugging her bodily to her feet.

“Last but not least, hell’s favorite alley Kat.” Grinning at her resulting grimace, he bent to plant a kiss on the side of her neck. “You’ve been cheating on me, Kitty Kat,” he whispered against her skin. Without warning, Castiel was writhing in pain, teeth grit as he battled the devil’s unseen forces. She tried to call to him, but Lucifer silenced her with a kiss, his grip tightening so she couldn’t see her angel. “You know I’m a jealous man.”

“Stop it,” she hissed, squirming. “You had your fun, leave him be.”

“I haven’t,” he sighed with a pout. As Lucifer straightened, Castiel was released, and he sagged a bit in the arms of his captor. “But I will.”

“So what now?” Carlee demanded. She tore her eyes away from Dean’s hollow ones, brow knit together.

“Now,” Crowley interjected, clapping his hands together. “To business. Meggie, take the three stooges to their room, please. I’d imagine these two lovebirds have some catching up to do. Meanwhile…” he offered her his arm, gesturing. “The grand tour of hell.” She scowled at him, and ran to Dean’s side before he could be hauled off.

“We’ll be fine,” she murmured, pulling him into a fierce kiss. “I’ve seen it.” Crowley flicked a hand, banishing him down the hall, and the door that he’d been crossing through slammed shut to cut them off. Lucifer had led Kat away, so only the pair of them remained in the room.

Carlee glared, but grudgingly reached for his proffered arm and was hardly shocked when she blinked and was standing in the middle of a lavish bedroom. Contrary to the minimalist theme of the waiting room, the chamber—that obviously belonged to Crowley—was a dank dungeon lit by a myriad of twinkling candelabras. In the center of it, a king sized bed adorned in crisply folded black sheets waited for her.

“Horny bastard,” she hissed, attempting to back away. His grip on her hand kept her uncharacteristically rooted to the spot, however, and as she glared up at him she found that she’d forgotten why she felt so threatened in the first place.

“Come here, ducky,” he breathed, an eyebrow flicked in amusement. Crowley’s finger traced her cheek, nudging her close enough so that he could catch her lips once more. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice protested, but it was quickly smothered by the burning desire that she felt in his kiss.

All the fires in hell paled in comparison to the blaze that Crowley’s embrace had ignited in her chest, and fueled by some dark yearning, she drew closer. Where Dean had been affectionate and passionate, the demon was demanding, offering her no quarter. It was clear from his amused smirk against her lips that he expected her to beg—and she was only too happy to oblige. He led her, moving slowly with his hands on her hips, to the edge of the bed where she sat obediently. While his fingers explored through her hair, hers were jerking on his tie, using it as leverage to push her tongue in deeper. Using every ounce of willpower she pushed away, using the tie as a leash. “Make me a deal.”

“Oh darling, you made one of those already and look where it got you.” Carlee shook her head and gripped the tie tighter.

“I don’t want that kind of deal. If I do this, do anything you want, you help me get my sister back.” Crowley stared at her for a minute before pushing her back on the bed and whispering into her ear.

“ _Fine_ ,” the word itself drawn out as a hiss. But with his consent Carlee pulled him to her again, sealing the deal with a kiss and trying to frantically unknot the material in her hand. It wasn’t long before it was disposed of, followed by his jacket and black button down. Despite the coolly calculating stare he was eyeing her with, the growing bulge in his slacks betrayed him.

Carlee stood, her cheeks aflame with anticipation, and Crowley aided her in divesting herself of the last few layers that came between them. “Down,” he demanded as he pushed her to her knees. She unzipped his trousers and left them a pool at his feet as she kissed his hard length through the thin material. But in the blink of an eye even those were gone. As she dragged her nails across him, she glanced up to see his head thrown back.

“Enough with the foreplay, darling.” She took him in her mouth, swirling a tongue around his head, already dripping with precum. She used her hand to pump the rest of his shaft while she focused on the head and then with one swift move took his entire length, hollowing her cheeks as she moved her head back. Provoked by the loud groan that emitted from the demon, she proceeded again once, twice, a third time before she found herself at the head of the bed, Crowley now straddling her.

 A burning trail followed the path that his fingers skimmed down her legs. He didn’t look away from her as he skillfully found her breast, teasing her with his teeth until she released a strangled moan. Her fingers were clawing at the sheets, bunching them in her fists as his tongue continued its lazy path over her chest.

“Tell me what you want,” Crowley breathed against her ear, his lilting tone raspy with pleasure. Her tongue was thick, and Carlee didn’t respond, already wholly surrendered to the warm haze that emanated from the pit of her stomach. His practiced fingers moved to the apex between her thighs to rouse her, already wet and willing. He circled her clit, hungry for her as he felt her desire pump through him.

“Oh, God,” She cried out already moving close to orgasm.

“No, darling. Try again.” In response she dug her nails into his back as she let “fuck you” slip from her mouth. He pushed three fingers into her and she cried out in pain as he pumped. “You, you, you, you,” she gaspingly hissed over and over. “Now.”

Crowley obligingly slid his length into her, and his kiss captured the moan that escaped her lips. For all his cold bravado, he moved slowly, teasingly; relishing the way she gasped in time with his thrusting, her hips rising to accommodate him. He coaxed her deftly, ignoring her pleas as his fingers, teeth, and rough kisses brought her to the edge. Feeling her tighten around him, mouth agape in ecstasy, he withdrew.

Carlee shuddered, her nails digging into his back as she tugged him closer, begging him in wordlessly garbled adulation to finish what he’d started. Her desperate supplication only made him laugh thinly, and he pressed against her so he could whisper in her ear.

“Beg me.”

The resounding “please” was lost in the sound of her crying out—he pushed into her, deeper than before, and a wave of pleasure washed over her. She was barely conscious that he had finished, so composed was his demeanor. Post-coital exhaustion settled over her, and with heavy, trembling limbs, she swathed herself in the dark sheets, nestling against his pillow sleepily. The demon had already stood, and was only halfway through re-clothing himself that sleep had claimed her

~~~~

In the privacy of his stateroom, Lucifer abandoned the playful pretense he’d adopted in front of their company. He shoved Kat backwards against the wall, careless of her head colliding against the stone. She was used to his seething temper, and said nothing as he nipped at her earlobe.

“Angel got your tongue?” he demanded, his own tracing a lazy pattern down her neck. Kat remained stoically silent and was bizarrely pleased to see a flash of fury in his eyes. “I suppose we’ll get to business, then,” he murmured, and it was her turn to contain the raging ire that threatened to choke her. The hand that had been holding her against the wall disappeared, and he pressed his chest against hers so that she wouldn’t escape while he deftly unbuttoned her jeans.

“You used to like this, Kitten,” he breathed tauntingly in her ear. She could feel the heat of him and determinedly looked anywhere but at his laughing eyes. Swallowing, she tightened her jaw so that the hideous curses she wanted to fling at him wouldn’t escape her—she knew from experience that it would go faster if she didn’t resist. His erection was hard against her, skimming teasingly across the black lace she’d donned for Castiel’s eyes alone, and then, suddenly, he was inside her.

Lucifer had wanted to hurt her—slowly, intimately, in every way that she feared—and Kat couldn’t stifle a pained whimper as he stabbed between her legs. His laughter, however, was worse than the indignity of the affair, and she flushed at the knowledge that this would not be quick and she would not enjoy it. The discomfort of his slow thrusting was magnified by his hands crushing her hips back against the stone. With every blow, the roughly hewn marble left a raw, burning trail down her spine, and though she’d squeezed her eyes shut, his murmuring against her cheek made it impossible to envision herself elsewhere.

It felt like longer than an eternity before he released a sated sigh in her ear and withdrew, pleased at the sticky wetness that he’d slicked over the tops of her thighs. The devil watched her stumble away from the wall, doing her best to conceal the stiff soreness he’d left her. True to form, he gripped her by the arm and tossed her towards the door, chuckling madly as she staggered clumsily to her knees. An aching mixture of rage, shame, and hatred had risen in her chest, but the deeper the color that painted her cheeks, the wider the grin on the king of hell’s face.

“Go to your angel now, Kitten,” he purred, bending down so that he was eyelevel with her. “You’ll always be mine.” He straightened and turned, silently dismissing her to scramble to her feet and skulk away.


	12. Lead Me Home

**Lead Me Home**

**Part XII**

When she awakened, Crowley had disappeared—not that she’d expected him to stay. Her clothes had been cleaned, and waited for her in a pile folded neatly by the bed: a clear indication that he wanted her gone as soon as possible. Carlee removed herself from the twisted sheets, her memories a churning mixture of guilt and shame. She could easily imagine Dean’s fury when he saw the bruising that dotted her arms, but she swallowed down the anxiety that was building in the pit of her stomach.

 _I had to_ , she told herself. _He has Alex_. _It was the only way_. Even in her own head, it sounded like a weak protestation, and she knew that the impending wrath of the hunter would soon fall upon her. Not that she cared much; she just wanted her baby sister to be safe.

The bowels of hell were twistedly convoluted, and the journey to the room where Sam, Dean, and Castiel were being held took little over half an hour—Carlee had steeled herself along the walk, and walked into the chamber exuding confidence that she didn’t feel. Dean was the only one there, perched on the edge of a bed with his head in his hands. The redness of his eyes betrayed the tears that had, presumably, been dashed away only moments before she entered. He glanced up at her entrance, taking in her unkempt mat of hair, the bruising that dotted her arms, the crescent-shaped bite mark on the side of her neck. What had been sorrowful silence turned into hideous rage, and he was on his feet before she could move to a defensible position.

His shaking fingers curled themselves around her wrists, nailing her against the adjacent wall with little apology for his brutishness. Betrayal, fury, and loathing battled behind his swollen lids, and his murky green gaze burned as it swept over her.

“What the hell?” he snarled, teeth bared in an almost feral hiss. “You _fucking_ whore.” The coldness of his words cut into her more deeply than the gouges that Crowley had torn across her back, but she maintained a sullen speechlessness as anger boiled deep inside.

“You slept with Crowley—of all the _things_ in this world… _Crowley_?” His whispered inquisition broke against the tip of her ear. “Tell me I’m wrong, Carlee.”

Silence.

“How could you do that to me?” It was less of a question, more of a stinging indictment that he flung at her, as he punched the wall beside her. The anger deep inside boiled to rage by the disgust that had carved itself into Dean Winchester’s face.

“For once, can you think about someone other than yourself?! Do you not understand that there are other people besides _you_ that I have to worry about?! You did what you had to for Cas, and I did what I had to.” Glaring, she wriggled away from him, eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean, _had_ to?” he snapped back, his free hand unconsciously reaching for any sort of weapon that could be found on his immediate person.

“He has my sister, Dean!” Carlee’s voice quivered almost imperceptively, but she shook her head to strengthen her resolve and continued with her teeth clenched. “And if I have to sleep with every goddamned demon in the pit, you’d better believe I’m going to do it!”

Her chest was heaving with rankling rage, and she though better than to remain in the room with the hunter, for fear that he’d emerge without the use of his limbs. On her way to the door, however, Dean’s grip on her upper arm halted her egress, and he spun her so that their faces were inches apart. He looked, for a fraction of an instant, like he might apologize, but she didn’t give him the opportunity.

“I swear,” she added softly, eyes narrowing to threatening slits. “If you get between me and Alex because of your pride, you will not be happy with the consequences, Dean Winchester.” Jerking away from him, she strode into the hallway, allowing the door to shut behind her with a resounding bang.

~~~~

Kat had wandered from Lucifer’s room to hers—which was conveniently located only a stone’s throw away. If nothing else, the underworld was renowned for unparalleled water temperature, and she couldn’t wait to wash away the feeling of the devil’s chuckling breath against her neck. Her room was familiar, albeit dusty, and while the tub was filling she reacquainted herself with the layout.

It had evidently been ransacked, whether by Lucifer’s cronies or her father’s she didn’t know, but despite the general chaos they’d wreaked, the stack of her books in the corner remained untouched. In spite of the gnawing hole that had been torn in the pit of her stomach, the sight of her most precious companions was enough to bring the shadow of a smile to her face.

When the steam from her bath was so thick that it hung like a palpable cloud in her washroom, she slid into it, heedless of the way the heat stung her. The burning was oddly healing, and though she knew that every inch of her exposed skin would soon be a smarting red, Kat buried herself deeper in the pool. It was not until the water had cooled enough to make her shiver that she emerged. Wrapping herself in a large towel, she brushed past her red-rimmed reflection in the mirror and reentered her room.

The sight of Castiel pacing anxiously across the length of the chamber barely fazed her, and she kept her head ducked accordingly so he wouldn’t see the tears that she’d shed. He was at her side in a moment, however, his arms wrapped around her in a bone-crushing embrace.

“You’re sad,” he observed, frowning. As he was unaware of the raw scrapes that Lucifer’s abuse had left on her back, he was startled when his touch made her cry out in pain, and he leapt back a few feet in confusion. Tugging her towel closer, she dodged away from him so that she wouldn’t have to explain herself and remember the feeling of his hands pressing against her.

“Your back.” He had turned away to preserve her modesty, but had noticed the way she gingerly went through the motions of donning an oversized t-shirt and shorts. Understanding eluded the angel until she finally turned to face him, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. Kat’s ragged sigh sent a burst of fury howling through his chest, leaving him fairly quivering with rage as he beheld the bedraggled creature before him.

“He didn’t,” Castiel murmured in a low growl, the ire in his voice surprising both of them. Fists balled, he swallowed his choking anger and reached a hand to touch Kat’s forehead, his grace instantly wiping away the torn scarring that had marred her skin. She broke at his touch, and crumpled into his arms, hardly any more than a frightened, trembling girl seeking solace under the wings of her guardian angel.

“I wish I could heal everything,” he whispered, brushing a stray tear away from her cheek with his thumb. Seized by some carnal, protective desire, he scooped her into his arms and repositioned so that she was curled in his lap on her bed. He stayed awake with her as she gradually stopped shaking; singing old Enochian folk songs until she drifted into merciful sleep.

 


	13. Seven Devils

**Seven Devils**

**Part XIII**

Carlee had quite reached her limit with the suave Cockney demon. Despite his oath to help her rescue her sister, it had been three days since he’d called for her, and she was tired of seeing Dean’s reproachful look tossed in her direction every few minutes. Under the Winchester’s directive, she had picked up some of the tricks of the trade, and she shamelessly utilized them to break into Crowley’s stateroom. Flushed with pleasure and the smallest sparks of anticipation, she perched on his silken sheets and waited for his return.

“Hello darling, come back for seconds?” he intoned with a chuckle as he beheld her scowling countenance.

“Crowley, you asshole,” she snarled. “It’s been three days and you promised me my sister.”

Crowley tsked at her, shaking his head. “Always read the fine print darling. If you do recall, you said _anything_ I wanted. And darling, that wasn’t good enough. Maybe for you,” he said with a wink, “but I was hardly satisfied. You’ll have to do a hell of a lot better if you want that pretty sister of yours back.”

Carlee swallowed the acerbic retort that had jumped to her tongue and slid off the bed to approach the demon. “Fine, jackass. But if I’m going to do this, then I’m going to need a few things.”

“And what exactly does “things” entail?”

Carlee cocked her head to the side, staring at Crowley as she tried to remember what in particular had made the crossroads demon squirm. Fueled by some roguish instinct, she could think of only three—and they brought a twisted smirk to her face.

“Rope, a blindfold… and a stripper pole.”

~~~

            “Alright Kitty Kat,” Lucifer remarked casually as he wiped himself clean from their latest fuck, “that’s enough for today, don’t you think?” Azazel’s daughter was curled in the sheets, her eyes already closed in sheer exhaustion.

            “More than enough, I’d say,” she retorted into the pillow, cringing a bit when she realized that she’d given voice to her thoughts. The devil only chuckled at her ragged admission and returned to the bed next to her, running a trail of kisses across her exposed back.

            “You weren’t really up to par today, Kitten,” he murmured against her skin. “I know how much you enjoy our little rendezvous, but I’ve business to attend to this evening—you have one day, use it wisely.” He waved his hand idly, and she was tangled in the sheets of her own bed, finally alone. She sighed weakly, and nestled closer to her pillow so sleep could finally claim her.

            _“Tell me what you know about Azazel!”_

_“Nothing, please no! I don’t know anything, I swear! Castiel… please!” Castiel cut through her arm and poured more salt over the wound. Kat writhed against her chains, screaming aloud, her voice becoming hoarse._

_Castiel poured a bucket of holy water over head while she screamed, her insides now burning as the water poured into her throat from the screams. Scorched from head to toe, she sputtered “If I knew anything, Cas, I swear I would tell you… I know nothing… please…”_

_“Then she dies,” Zachariah says from the corner, “Kill her Castiel.”_

_Castiel approaches Kat, raising the demon blade over his head. “NO! Cas! Please! Cas… please…”_

            Castiel heard the screams and hurried to find Kat screaming his name over and over, struggling against the knots in her sheets. He grabbed her and tried to wake her from the nightmare she was having. “Kathryn… Kat… I’m here. Wake up.”

            She opened her eyes and let out another scream, scrambling to get as far away as her bed would let her. Cas saw the hurt in her eyes and knew immediately what nightmare she was having. “Kat, I’m not going to hurt you, it was only a nightmare,” he lifted one hand and brushed away the hair that was sticking to her face. He moved his palm down to her cheek, and Kat leaned into it. Cas took this as a sign and pulled Kat into his lap where he stroked her hair as her breathing slowed to normal.

            Kat looked up at him, finally calm. “You were torturing me. And when Zachariah ordered you to kill me, you… you almost did.”

            “I will never hurt you again Kat. Believe that.” Kat moved so that their faces were just an inch apart. “Promise?” she whispered.

             Without an answer Castiel pulled her face forward so that their lips touched. With a need previously explored Kat pushed Castiel back onto the bed, never breaking the kiss. She fervently undid the buttons of his shirt only moving from his lips when his chest was fully unbound. She explored the newly exposed skin, leaving marks and trails of heat wherever she went. She pulled off his belt and unzipped his pants when Castiel pulled her up and rolled on top of her. Their lips met again and Castiel pulled her t-shirt off, exposing the supple breast unbound by material.

            Castiel’s mouth moved to her nipple where he swirled the nub in his mouth, making Kat squirm. He grabbed the other breast with his right hand and Kat bucked up into Cas, needing more than what he was giving. “Cas…” she moaned as she pulled his hair.

            Castiel moved back to her lips, still kneading her breast with his hand. Kat trailed kisses down his jawline then his neck, sucking and biting every inch of skin she could find. She swirled her hands around his back, going further and further until they met material. Her hands unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down along with the boxers underneath, revealing the engorged length underneath. She wrapped her hands around him and elicited a moan from Castiel. With the added encouragement Kat pumped her hand twice and swiped a finger over the head. Not being able to handle it anymore, Castiel grabbed both of Kat’s hands and held them about her head in one hand. He entered her in one swift motion, swallowing her cry with his mouth. As he pumped slowly his tongue searched every inch of hers and as his pace increased so did his tongue, matching the rhythm. Kat squirmed, trying to grab a hold of anything, but Cas was stronger. He held her tight until not even he could control his hands anymore. Cas let go just in time for Kat to leave trails along his back as she cried out from her orgasm. With one final push Cas followed and fell on top of Kat.

            Once their breath was back to normal Kat whispered, “At least that time we weren’t interrupted.”

            “Oh I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” and Kat’s blood ran cold.

 


	14. Leave My Body

**Leave My Body**

**Part XIV**

“Lucifer!” Kat exclaimed, instinctively reaching for the duvet to cover both her and her lover. Seeing that he had no intention of leaving, she crawled into her overlarge t-shirt and shorts, jaw set in irritated fury.

            “Oh, there’s no need for hiding,” he chuckled, masking the irritation in his eyes with a coy smile. “I’ve seen it all already.”

            “You gave me a full day, that doesn’t entail watching me.”

            “Yes, well it also doesn’t entail sleeping with A GOD-DAMNED ANGEL OF HEAVEN!” Lucifer’s voice shook the room like an earthquake, making the wall overhead crack and numerous pictures and paintings to fall. Lucifer sent Castiel, clad only in his tie, flying against the wall. “Well I don’t think I’ll ever get that image out of my head,” Lucifer laughed. “Kat. Honey. Now, I know you’re a whore, but you’re my whore. And if I catch you again with this man, I’m really not going to be so nice about it.”

            At that point in time, Dean and Sam ran into the room. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Cas. Can’t I ever get a break with you two?” Dean asked, covering his eyes.

            “Kat? What’s happening?” Carlee rushed in, finishing the tie around her black silk bathrobe. She stopped in the doorway when she saw the number of people inside of Kat’s room. Dean turned and glared at her, still not forgiving from their last fight. Carlee saw the hurt in his eyes and looked away, a blush the color of her hair rising to her cheeks.

            “And now that I have my audience…” Lucifer snapped his fingers and Kat was thrown against the opposite wall of Cas, her body rising up toward the ceiling, all eyes on her.

            Demons appeared and held the other three in place, but there was no need; Dean and Sam were frozen. They had seen this happen before, or at least the aftermath. That’s when they heard the scream.

            “NO!” Carlee yelled as she stomped on the foot of her captor. He bent over in pain and she jabbed him in the stomach and then sent a right-hook into his nose. She turned, grabbed the knife out of Dean’s pocket and sent it into the neck of the demon, all in one fell swoop. While Dean and Sam handled their own demons, Carlee ran straight for Lucifer whose eyes were still on Kat. With the force on a linebacker, Carlee tackled Lucifer to the ground where she then sent the knife straight into the Devil’s heart.

            Lucifer laughed and Carlee was thrown against the wall near Cas, completely knocked out. “Stupid, cunt,” he spat out along with the blood in his mouth. He stood up and brushed the dirt from his clothes. “Uh, uh, uh. I wouldn’t do that Dean,” he crooned as Dean raced over to Carlee’s side and was stopped mid-stride.

            “Look, boys, I like you two. I really do. But what I don’t like are these three that you both keep meddling with. So here’s what I’m going to do. The demon-spawn I’m keeping, obviously. The red-head is a nuisance, but Crowley needs a bitch, so she’s staying too. Plus she just tried to kill me, can’t let her go that easily; it’ll ruin my reputation. And as for the angel, well we have plans for him, although he’s going to be a little bit more clothed.” In the blink of an eye Cas had his normal clothes on again. “But, as an example of my generosity, I’ll give you the bitch’s sister back, all in one peace. And I’ll give you 48 hours before my henchmen come after you two to kill you again. I think that’s a pretty fair trade.”

            “No deal,” Dean spat forcefully.

            “It was never a deal.” With a snap of his fingers Lucifer sent the Winchester’s back to Bobby’s house, now with a young girl curled up at their feet.


End file.
